"Tut, the clack of them! Steadily! Steadily! Aye, as you say, sir, they're little ones still; One long reach should open it readily,

Round by St. Helens and under the hill.

"The Spit and the Nab are the gates of the promise, Their mothers to them—and to us it's our wives. I've sailed forty years, and-By God it's upon us! Down royals, down top'sles, down, down, for your lives!"

A grey swirl of snow with the squall at the back of it,
Heeling her, reeling her, beating her down!
A gleam of her bends in the thick of the wrack of it,
A flutter of white in the eddies of brown.

It broke in one moment of blizzard and blindness;
The next, like a foul bat, it flapped on its way.
But our ship and our boys! Gracious Lord, in your
kindness,

Give help to the mothers who need it to-day!

Give help to the women who wait by the water,

Who stand on the Hard with their eyes past the Wight.

Ah! whisper it gently, you sister or daughter,

"Our boys are all gathered at home for to-night.'

Sir A. Conan Doyle.

The Leadsman's Song

OR England, when with favouring gale,
Our gallant ship up Channel steered,
And scudding, under easy sail,

The high blue western lands appeared,
To heave the lead the seaman sprang,

And to the pilot cheerly sang
"By the deep-Nine".

And bearing up to gain the port,
Some well-known object kept in view,
An abbey tower, a ruined fort,
A beacon to the vessel true,
While oft the lead the seaman flung,
And to the pilot cheerly sung
"By the mark-Seven ".

And as the much-loved shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof
Where dwelt a friend or partner dear,
Of faith and love and matchless proof,
The lead once more the seaman flung,
And to the watchful pilot sung
"Quarter less-Five".

Now to her berth the ship draws nigh,
With slackened sail she feels the tide,
Stand clear the cable is the cry,
The anchor's gone, we safely ride,
The watch is set, and through the night,
We hear the seaman with delight

Proclaim-" All's well".

Anon.

Caller Herrin'

HA 'LL buy caller herrin'?

W

They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Buy my caller herrin',

New drawn frae the Forth.

When ye were sleeping on your pillows,

Dreamt ye aught o' our puir fellows,

Darkling as they face the billows,
A' to fill our woven willows?

Buy my caller herrin',

They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Buy my caller herrin',

New drawn frae the Forth.

An' when the creel o' herrin' passes,

Ladies, clad in silks and laces,

Gather in their braw pelisses,

Toss their heads and screw their faces;

Buy my caller herrin',

They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';

Buy my caller herrin',

New drawn frae the Forth.

Noo, neighbour wives, come, tent my tellin',
When the bonnie fish ye 're sellin',

At a word be aye your dealin'—

Truth will stand when a' things failin';

Buy my caller herrin',

They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';

Buy my caller herrin',

New drawn frae the Forth.

Wha 'll buy my caller herrin'?

They're no brought here without brave darin',
Buy my caller herrin',

Ye little ken their worth.

Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?

O ye may call them vulgar farin';
Wives and mithers, maist despairin',
Ca' them lives o' men.

Caller herrin', caller herrin'.

Lady Nairne.

The Poor Fisherman

HUS by himself compelled to live each day,
To wait for certain hours the tide's delay;
At the same time the same dull views to see,
The bounding marsh-bank and the blighted
tree;

The water only, when the tides were high,
When low, the mud half-covered and half-dry;
The sun-burnt tar that blisters on the planks,
And bank-side stakes in their uneven ranks;
Heaps of entangled weeds that slowly float,
As the tide rolls by the impeded boat.
When tides were neap, and in the sultry day

Through the tall bounding mud-banks made their way,
Which on each side rose swelling, and below
The dark warm flood ran silently and slow;
There anchoring, Peter chose from man to hide,
There hang his head, and view the lazy tide
In its hot slimy channel slowly glide.

Crabbe.

The Three Fishers

HREE fishers went sailing out into the West,
Out into the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him
the best,

And the children stood watching them out
of the town:

For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbour bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse-tower,

And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown; But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbour bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,

In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come back to the town. For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep; And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

Charles Kingsley.